Jack Straw.
Perhaps you will allow me to explain. Four years ago I fell desperately in love with a lady whose speciality it was to kick higher than any one else in the world. She could kick a man’s tall hat off his head with such grace that I asked her to marry me. My grandfather refused to consent, and the lady was hurried over the frontier. [With a glance at Ethel.] I was a romantic dog myself in those days, and I followed her, only to find that she had already three more or less lawful husbands. The sight of them, and the conviction that her peculiar talent would not greatly add to the felicity of domestic life, cured me of my passion. But the world did seem a bit hollow and empty, and I thought I’d see how it looked from the point of view of a man who had nothing but his wits to live on. After trying it, I tell you frankly that I much prefer living on the revenues which rise from the strength of arm of my ancestors. When you saw me at the Grand Babylon Hotel I was preparing to return to the bosom of my family, but I saw this young lady, and the chance offering, decided to come down here. It was not unnatural that when I was asked to assume a grandiloquent name I should assume my own. Yesterday, when I met Count von Bremer, I begged him to wire to the Emperor, asking for his consent to my marriage with Miss Ethel Jennings.
Von Bremer.
I have only to add that the Emperor, delighted with the prospect of seeing once more his favourite grandson, has gladly given his consent.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
And when I think of all the things I’ve called you these last few hours....
Jack Straw.
They went in at the ear of a waiter, Madam, and slipped out at that of an Archduke.
[He goes up to Ethel.
Jack Straw.